by Crystal Michallet-Romero
Copyright © 2001 Crystal Michallet-Romero
All Rights Reserved
similarities to any persons, individuals or incidents is purely coincidental. All character names were changed to protect the
author from her family.
All Feedback Welcomed at: lcmichallet@charani.org
Tia/Tio = Aunt, Uncle
Pues = Then
Ojas = Corn husks
Chingada = A curse word
Fea = Ugly
Dejalo = Leave them alone
Que pasa = What's happening
Verdad = Truth, as in, "Isn't that the truth," or "Am I right"
Aye = exclamation
Si = Yes
Nada = Nothing
Locas = Crazy
As a child, the world of adults was a mystical place of strange languages, magical powers and hidden knowledge. It was a
world that we children often looked upon as a dream land of which we would someday be a part. Our world of imaginary
dragons and make believe spy plots seemed pale in comparison to the secrets that the adults kept safely shrouded behind a
veil of mystery and hidden behind locked doors.
Family gatherings were always filled with the laughter of playing children, loud music and numerous adult conversations, all
running simultaneously. To keep afloat in my family, the adults had to be skilled enough to maintain several conversations with
numerous relatives all at once. Only at night, when everyone would sleep, would silence fill the house, and even then, the
sounds of the cats skittering through the rooms would echo down the halls.
One winter, my parents decided to spend some time with family in Nebraska. With my grandmother and an aunt in tow, we
made the trip across the state lines to what was a new and strange world for us. Although I had never met them before, the
relatives in Nebraska were not unlike my family in California. Their voices were loud and welcoming and their arms were
strong and relentless when they embraced you. After only a short time, it was as if my family had always lived in Nebraska.
On Christmas Eve, we gathered together in my aunt’s small pink house that was located on what I later learned was the
wrong side of the tracks. At that time I differentiated the right and wrong side of the tracks by the colors of the
neighborhoods. My family lived on the side that looked like the colors of the rainbow. Each house was painted in vivid
colors of either pepto bismol pink, lime green, lemon yellow or grape fruit purple. These rainbow colored homes were often
put together in a haphazardly fashion with each room being added on as the family grew. The yards of these homes were
always open and free of fences.
In contrast to my family’s side of the tracks, the side of the tracks which was considered the “right” side had white painted
homes surrounded by white picket fences that had green manicured lawns and a cupid fountain in the center of the yards. The
only contact that anyone in my family ever had with this side of town was during the day when the women cleaned the homes
of the white women who lived in these homes.
My Tia Gorda was the exception. Everyone called my aunt Tia Gorda even though this was not her real name; her name has
long been forgotten and the new nickname became the identifying title she always answered to. Tia Gorda was the largest
woman I had ever met. She stood as tall as my mother and was three times as wide with short, round legs and tiny feet that
threatened to spill out of black high heel shoes. I would always sit in amazement and watch Tia Gorda move with unbound
ease through her house. At the tiny door of the kitchen, she had to turn sideways to enter into the familiar dominion of her
realm.
In contrast to his wife, Tio Gordo was a tall, thin lanky man. With a mustache as thin as his frame, and dark, neatly groomed
hair, he moved silently through life. If Tia Gorda was known for her constant words and non-stop chatter, Tio Gordo was
known for the silent shadow he became whenever he followed behind his wife’s larger girth.
To the family, Tia and Tio Gordo had accomplished the American dream of raising a family, having a home and all the luxuries
of modern technology. Tia Gorda was the only one in the neighborhood to have a new Amana stove with an oven that had a
light and a refrigerator that hardly made any noise at all. All of her new things were afforded with the money which Tio Gordo
earned while picking up white people’s garbage across town.
For many people, being a sanitation engineer was not a glamorous job. But to my family, Tio Gordo held up the standards of
a good provider. As my grandmother would say, “Garbage men are needed, and if they get paid good, pues, who are we to
say how a man earns an honest living!” So although Tio Gordo had to be at work early in the mornings and returned from
work smelling of garbage late at night, Tia Gorda was the only one on this side of the tracks who had the nicest kitchen and
living room set. So good was her furniture that she had every piece covered in plastic in order to preserve the fabric.
As was common for family gatherings, the men would congregated in the living room drinking beer and watching the only
color television on the block, while the women gathered around a kitchen table. On this particular day of Christmas’ eve the
women were making tamales for the Christmas meal. The smell of the masa mingled with the spicy aromas of the boiling meat
and chili sauce. While my mother stood stirring the meat, my grandmother was taking the ojas from the water and placing
them on a tray. Without a concern for their activities, my cousins and I ran through the kitchen as we played our children’s
game.
“Chingada!” Fea screamed and stomped a foot as she turned to us kids, her hands reaching out in an attempt to grab a
squealing body to torture. “All of you, get out of here!” she screamed in what I later learned was Spanglish, a combination of
the English and Spanish language, which had become synonymous of the Chicano experience.
Fea’s real name was Rosita, and although Feya was our aunt, we never called her Tia. No authority was ever given to her,
and we never saw fit to bestow it on her. I never understood how she was given the nickname Feya. She was not really ugly
nor, in my child’s eyes, was she pretty, she had simply become the name of Feya. Whenever I would glance up at Feya, I
could not help but silently stare at her left eye which turned inward to meet her right eye. It was only as an adult that I was
able to see Rosita’s true beauty. Her compassion, caring nature and dedication to my grandmother during her final days
brought out her hidden strength and outward beauty.
Once, when I was playing my invisible game around my parents, I had overheard my mother telling my father that the doctor
said Feya’s mind would never grow beyond the age of sixteen. I never understood what my mother meant, I only knew that
Feya was quick to temper, so I made every attempt to keep out of her reach when playing with my cousins.
As an adult, I would come to reflect upon Feya’s nickname with a cousin who at the time said, “Is it no wonder that Feya
was so messed up with a nickname like that?” I had not thought about it during our conversation, but I now see it as very
relevant that my cousin, the psychology major, would have spent time contemplating such an issue. It seems ironic to me that
the family bully would have grown up to become the family psychologist, but seeing as she may have been the root cause of
numerous phobias in my cousins, perhaps it was good that she would then be available to offer her services to her victims,
even if it was only in the form of a brief observation.
Once Feya had finished her tirade against the entire race of children, Tia Maria jumped to our defense. “Feya, dejalo, they’re
only children,” the kindly woman said as my cousins made their escape into the living room. At her words, I smiled as I
dragged my ratty, patched up teddy bear silently through the kitchen. With only a wink and a smile, Tia Maria handed me a
warm, rolled up tortilla that dripped butter. Accepting her offering, I took the tortilla and settled myself under the kitchen
table.
“They shouldn’t be in here!” Feya’s shouts were always complaining, but no one ever listened to her pleas. Instead,
everyone returned to their previous conversations as if her outburst had never happened.
Being invisible was easy for me. My brother could never do it, and my cousins had never heard of it. Being invisible meant
that I was able to see and hear the things that adults spoke of which we children were not supposed to learn about. As I ate
the tortilla I began to concentrate on becoming invisible. By the time I licked the butter that dripped onto my fingers, I
furrowed my brows and began to feel myself disappearing before my tia’s eyes. As if I had never been there, my tia returned
her attention back to her tasks.
“Feya, how are you ever going to have kids with your attitude?”
“I’m never having brats!”
“Aye, you’ll change your mind, Fea, just wait and see,” one of my tias said with a wink and a nudge toward one of her
sisters. Before their conversation could progress, another person entered the kitchen.
“Morning meja!” Tia Ellena said as her daughter entered the room.
Cousin Margaret was unlike any cousin I had known. Although I was told that we were cousins, I found it hard to believe
that someone who had already entered into the adult world could be a cousin. But she was. Although I didn’t know her age,
I understood that she was hardly old enough to be within the circle of women in the kitchen.
“Morning mama, tias,” cousin Margaret’s voice was respectful as she greeted the women in the room. With smooth, brown
skin and long black hair, her dark brown eyes sparkled each time she gazed into your eyes. Her soft, warm body was
enticing to snuggle against as she would brush her slender fingers through your hair. She was the oldest cousin I had and,
within my child’s eyes, the prettiest woman I had ever seen. Even my mother’s youthfulness could not compare to Margaret’
s beauty.
I had first met cousin Margaret after we had been in Nebraska for a week. For some mysterious reason, she no longer lived
with her mother and her mother had spoken of her as if she were no longer living. It was not until I met her that my mother
explained that cousin Margaret had been away with her new husband. Upon first meeting her, I knew that I liked her.
Although I did not know her, I was compelled to go into her open arms and hug her close as she rained soft kisses on the top
of my head and made cooing sounds.
As the conversations of the kitchen rose in volume, I finished the last of my tortilla and gazed up from beneath the table. I
watched as my tias and momma began to slap the masa onto the ojas. With only occasional laughs, my grandmother watched
in silence as the conversations took place. As if she could see through my invisibility, she winked my way, then returned her
attention to spreading the meat sauce onto the prepared ojas.
“Meja, how’s married life treating you?” Tia Ellena asked her daughter, cousin Margaret.
“I guess o.k,” she said as she pulled up a chair and took an oja to prepare. Targeting in on her words and tone of discontent,
the conversations around the table suddenly grew silent.
“Que pasa? Don’t tell me you’re unhappy!” Tia Helena, sister to Tia Gorda, and Ellena jumped in simultaneously.
“No, Tias, it’s not that,” cousin Margaret moaned as she leaned back in her chair.
All of the women suddenly moved toward her like bees to honey. Their buzzing words were silenced as they waited for the
news of her words to spill from her lips. Sensing their mixed curiosity and impatience, cousin Margaret sighed as she threw
her hands up in defeat and rose from the table.
“I can’t fit anymore!” cousin Margaret moaned as she tugged at the waist of her jeans. “Momma, Tias, all of my clothes are
too tight!”
As the silence filled the room, I could see my tias and mother glancing from one to another, then, as if on cue, they burst into
laughter.
“Is that all, meja? I thought you were going to ask for a divorce after only two weeks,” Tia Helena laughed as she returned
her attention to the masa.
“I’m serious, my jeans don’t fit; I had to lay down on the bed to get the zipper up!” Margaret said as she sat down and
unconsciously finished preparing an oja. “I’m trying really hard, but... it’s just not easy.”
“Meja, don’t worry, we always spread out after we marry, it’s normal. I’d worry about you if you didn’t spread out,
verdad?” Tia Ellena asked as she turned her question to everyone in the room.
“Once you get married, you gain weight, it’s natural. You do it, you get hungry, you sleep, you rest, then you do it again, and
you’re hungry all over again. Verdad?”
“Aye, si, Ellena. Maggie, it’s normal, believe me,” Tia Gorda supported Tia Ellena’s words as all the women nodded in
confirmation. While I tried to understand what doing it was, Tia Gorda heaved her body up in order to get another tray of
ojas. With each step she took, the floor boards creaked in protest as the floor vibrated like a tiny earthquake. Once she
retrieved the tray, she returned to settle her body upon the two chairs which she used to sit on.
“I always get hungry after Tio Gordo and I do it, I can’t help it. We go all night and then I’m hungry, so, I have to get up and
fix me something to eat, then I go back to sleep. But, otraves, next thing you know, Tio Gordo’s ready to go at it again, and
then I get hungry all over again!” Tia Gorda sighed and shook her head in exasperation.
At her words, the room grew suddenly silent as all eyes turned to her. As dawning suddenly settled in, all of the women
gazed upon Tia Gorda’s girth in admiration and amazement. Sensing their astonishment, Tia Gorda turned a bright shade of
red as the revelation of her words became clear. Without embarrassment or shame, Tia Gorda broke out into a smile as the
room was suddenly filled with laughter.
Perfect in his timing, Tio Gordo entered the kitchen. Silence suddenly filled the room as all eyes gazed upon him with a
mixture of embarrassment and adoration. With the sudden attention, Tio Gordo turned to look behind him, then glanced
down at his zipper to see if their attention might have been caused by his forgetfulness. With the zipper firmly in place, Tio
Gordo arched a questioning brow at the women as he moved toward the refrigerator.
“Que pasa? What’d I do?” he asked the women as he pulled a cold beer out of its sanctuary.
“Nada, go back with the men and drink your beer,” Tia Gorda dismissed her husband.
“Locas,” Tio Gordo muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he walked out of the kitchen.
For a moment, silence filled the room as everyone resumed their tasks. When their conversations returned, I listened for any
clue to the secrets they knew, but found none. They no longer talked about the mystery which caused my cousin’s jeans to fit
tighter. Instead, they turned their conversations to things of ordinary nature. As if it was a secret which even they could not
mutter out loud, they never brought the subject up again and I was left to wonder when the day would come when I, like
cousin Margaret, would be allowed to know about the coveted secrets of the adult world.
The End
